


Four Compromising Situations That Lt. Fick Won't Soon Forget

by maccabird_23



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccabird_23/pseuds/maccabird_23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shut the fuck up, Ray. Do you plan on ending this war all too soon by sending out voice signals that the fucking Republican Guard could hear?” and that, Lt. Fick precisely knew to be Bravo's first team leader, Sgt. Brad Colbert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Compromising Situations That Lt. Fick Won't Soon Forget

 

 

      Solitary time was something of an unique privilege when it came to living in a camp full of Marines, and Mathilda, the camp Nate was stationed at, was no different. This is why he couldn't help but halt at the Port-a-Potty when he noticed the relative emptiness of the stalls. He didn't like to think of himself as an over planner, but also realized that it would probably be the best moment for some alone time.

 

       However, when he got closer, he noticed, or more accurately heard that someone else also perceived the quality of the mostly abandoned bathroom stations. He truly would have walked away when he heard the moans coming from the stall, but he ceased moving when he heard the first voice joined by a second, higher voice. He would never call himself a voyeur in any sense of the word, but he was actually frozen in shock by the new turn of events. Anyway, did it really count as voyeurism if he was only listening?

 

       By the time he came back to his senses, he was completely prepared to walk away. He had already turned around, preparing to walk back to the tents and probably talk to Brad, when......

 

       “Fucking, Jesus! Press your thumb behind my balls, Brad,” was the distinct voice Nate heard, which boomed and echoed in the quiet air of the surrounding area. It was all too easy for Lt. Fick to recognize the voice belonging to Cpl. Joshua Ray Person.

 

       “Shut the fuck up, Ray. Do you plan on ending this war all too soon by sending out voice signals that the fucking Republican Guard could hear?” and that, Lt. Fick precisely knew to be Bravo's first team leader, Sgt. Brad Colbert.

 

       “You're just fucking pissed because I was able to sneak a finger up there without you noticing.” Nate was sure that Ray would have went on with his rant, which he usually did, but was interrupted by his own moan, which Nate guessed Brad was able to coerce out of Person's mouth.

 

       “Motherfucking better than being able to fit my entire fist up there without your bitch-ass noticing,” Brad's very disturbing visual was then followed by heavier moans, which seemingly flowed through the thick, dusty air.

 

       “In your motherfucking dreams, uh fuck yeah, that's good,” Ray's voice was sequence by indistinct gibberish, interrupted periodically by unmanly squeaks and, of course, loud moans.

 

       “Fucking shit, I'm gonna,” and everything that came after that harsh bark of words were just too obscene grunts and whiny breaths that were pornographic enough to keep Nate there longer than he knew was reasonable or even sane.

 

       That was possibly why Nate was caught in the precarious situation of trying to sneak off far away from the Port-a-Potties, when the stall door was slammed opened and out tumbled one Ray Person to the ground. He was soon followed by a dazed, but standing Brad Colbert.

 

       “You Hebrew bastard could have warned me before you opened the fucking....” A swift kick to the heel of Ray's boot delivered by Brad ceased whatever he would have said next. Then in an instant, two pairs of eyes hastily turned to Nate. There was such intensity in their shared stare that it could have burned holes through Nate's uniform.

 

       In a knee jerk reaction, Nate turned with his back facing the two caught lovers. From behind him, he heard loud rustling, soon followed by booted foot steps hitting the ground.

 

       “Uh, Ray was having stomach problems,” came Brad's unconvincing voice, and Nate closed his eyes, trying his best not to give an unbelieving laugh that would have surely made the situation just a little bit more uncomfortable. But, of course, his actions were unneeded when Ray was there, who quickly answered Brad's somewhat lame response with a snort.

 

       “Yep, Brad was just holding my hair back as I puked. You see, Lieutenant, nothing obscenely inappropriate.” Again, Ray's words were caught off, but were accompanied by a grunt and then directly by an 'ow, you asshole, that hurt!'

 

       “Of course, that makes perfect sense. Sgt. Colbert, you might want to take your RTO to see Doc. Bryan before his stomach problem becomes any worse.” Nate was sure that both Brad and Ray could here the humor that drenched his voice, but he could neither change it, nor help it, given the situation they all found themselves in.

 

       “Right away, Lt. Fick,” Brad answered on command, like he would any order given to him by a superior.

 

       “And next time that Cpl. Person might fall ill, and you must assist him, please try to be more quiet or possibly take it to a more private environment,” Nate couldn't help but give his piece of advice, and by now, it was almost second nature for him.

 

       “We'll try to keep it a little more low key next time this situation might occur, Lieutenant.” Nate wasn't sure why he was so surprised to hear Ray's voice, possible because the seriousness in his tone was somewhat unusual for the twenty-two-year-old Corporal.

 

       “Thank you, Ray, Brad.” With that Nate walked as proudly as he could back to the tents. Out of the three of them he knew he shouldn't be the minority who felt the most embarrassed. However, the bulge in his pants, that had yet to wane, probably had something to do with that.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

 

       Night and darkness in general were not conceivable times to work on your Humvee's interior or exterior framework. This was a fact that Lt. Nathanial Fick was assured of. That was his reasoning for being a little bit more than concerned when Sgt. Espera informed him that Brad was putting in extra time on his Humvee.

      

      “What is he working by? Candle light?” Nate let an incredulous tone seep through his question. Most of his men didn't have enough batteries to run their NVG's, and he knew for certain that whatever light that Colbert might think was sufficient wouldn't save the twenty-eight-year-old from electrocuting himself when he laid hands on the wrong wiring in their inky surroundings.

 

       “What can I say, Sir, he's Iceman: faster than a speeding bullet and is able to jump tall buildings in a single bound.” However, the large, farcical grin that set the Sergeant's face guaranteed that he was just as amused with Colbert's antics as Nate was.

 

       “Let's just hope he doesn't plan on cleaning his M-4 rifle next.” Nate returned Espera's grin with his own worried smile, then clapped him on the shoulder in a gesture of comradery, before taking his leave.

 

       From there, Nate made his journey to the staging area for the Humvees, where he made a bee-line to Brad's Humvee. He halted, though, when he heard a muffled cry come from the backseat, and as he focused his eyesight into the darkened vehicle he recognized Brad's lone figure. The first platoon leader sat, half bent in his seat with the better part of his fist stuffed in his mouth. His harsh breathing was regularly interrupted by quiet cries.

 

       Nate knew well that Marines who were in their second, third, forth missions, the ones that had past battle experience behind them, were likely to have post-invasion jitters before stepping off. However, he hadn't expected such an emotional breakdown from someone of Brad's professional caliber, who usually put on such a cool exterior; more than earning his name as the Iceman.

 

       Moments later, though, Nate was broken out of his murky contemplations by a bawdy grunt, followed by a stream of vulgarity that would put any sailor to shame. His head shot up on reflex, and in time to see a shorn, brunette head pop up from its concealed position on Brad's lap. Before the lieutenant had time to react in any other way besides that of a gaping fish, Ray was by the side of the Humvee, spitting the contents of what he held in his mouth out the side window, and inadvertently on Nate's boot.

 

       It was truly one of those moments straight out of a bad, shenanigans movie, where Nate looked at his cum-covered shoe, then slowly moved his gaze up to meet eyes with Cpl. Person. Ray's face changed from one of confusion to a configuration of a round, open mouth and wide eyes, a true 'oh, shit' expression.

 

       “You see, Ray, when you spit with your teeth, you increase the distance of whatever it may be that you are spitting out of your mouth, be it dip or copious amounts of my cum.” Nate watched as both he and Ray turned their attention to Colbert, who was doing up his pants, as far as Nate could tell, with a very satisfied smirk adorning his face. That was until Ray gave a very sharp jab with his elbow into his Sergeant's side, before slinking down into the cramped back seat. All Nate could view of the Corporal was his cropped hair, but it gave Brad the opportunity to become aware of what had caused his RTO to become so fazed.

 

       Nate watched as Brad's expression changed little, if not at all. The Lieutenant couldn't decide if his relaxed attitude came from pure shock or from the blowjob he had just received. Brad only blinked a few times, then leaned over closer to the window, covering the majority of backseat, as well as hiding most of Ray that was left visible.

 

       “Is there something wrong, Sir?” Brad gave an uncomfortable cough and his eyes never actually met those of Nate's.

 

       “I don't know, Sergeant, should we put this down as a case of hysterical rabies?” Nate couldn't help the half smirk that laid across his mouth, and his amusement must have been shared by Ray, who gave a snort from his hidden position below Brad.

 

       Brad, however, didn't seem to share their hilarious understanding. He looked down at his slouched lover before asking, “What the fuck, Ray?” His question was followed by an echoing laugh, giving way to Ray's boisterous answer of, “I spit your cum on his boot.”

 

       For his part, Brad had the mindfulness to look bashful. “Rabies, you said, Sir, must be from those damn wild dogs,” Brad agreed, with a mouth set into a thin line, holding back a grin that was sure to spear his face if given a less embarrassing situation.

 

       “Might want to see Doc. Bryan if the symptoms become any worst, though.” Nate couldn't help the sarcasm that glazed his voice. There was a sort of pleasure from being more composed and less flustered when compared to his reaction the first time he caught the two Marines with their pants down.

 

       “No offense, Sir, but the last time you caught us in a compromising position, you advised us to find a more private environment. When is comes to a Marine camp, and as far as clandestine goes, we're practically in fucking Siberia, which should more than meet your standards of private.” Brad's comment could have been taken harshly, but his tone was completely neutral, if only a little defensive.

 

       “My apologies. You're right, but Sgt. Espera raised some concerns about you laboring over your Humvee at night. He hadn't informed me that Ray had also joined you. I would have probably been less apprehensive if I had been aware.” Nate observed Brad's reaction to his explanation. As he said Ray's name, he watched as the Sergeant laid his hand where Nate guessed the Corporal's shoulder must be. Suddenly, his first assumption of Brad hiding Ray with his body when he first noticed his superior's presence was replaced with new concepts, like shielding and protecting. It sent a queer twinge through Nate's gut, but he had no tangible explanation of why it did.

 

       “I told Poke that Ray was going to assist me. He must have assumed that you would guess that Ray would be attached to my hip,” Brad half-joked, with a sly grin that played upon his face. Seconds later, he moved back scantly and made some space for Ray to stretch out, so he was again visible to Nate.

 

       “Yep, Lieutenant, it's like assuming that flees are on a Labrador. If you go to pet one, you're probably gonna find a flee humping it.” Ray's dimples set into his face with an almost a cynical grin. Thoughts popped into Nate's head of the many times Brad had called Ray trailer trash, whiskey tango and how he'd give the same manic grin. He could never tell if he enjoyed the insults or if he would just grin and bear it.

 

       “I really wouldn't compare you to the proverbial flee, Ray. Maybe a main gunner without a shield. It could operate fine without it, but everyone would feel much safer if they were together.” Nate didn't know why he brought two cents into it or if he even made any sense. “I'm sorry, I'm rambling, and not even making any sense. I should probably get some sleep.”

 

      “Shit no, dude. It made perfect sense.” Ray turned to Brad before he said, “Told you, I'm fucking awesome.” Nate was surprised at the intensity of Ray's stare as he turned back to meet his eyes. “Hey, we have canteens back here if you want to clean your shoe.”

 

       It was possibly the look in Ray's eyes, or the inclination of Brad's head that told Nate that there was more to that offer than the definition of what the words gave. He shook his head thinking of the absurdity behind the idea of the two lovers soliciting him.

 

       However, as he took the next step into the gritty sand, his thoughts wildly flashed forward to him getting into the Humvee. The backseat would be too cramped and would cause him to press into Ray's chest. The water forgotten almost immediately, Ray's lips would enthusiastically crush into his, with playful nips and soft laughs that were so like the Ray that Nate imagined. Ray wold lave languid licks along Nate's neck. This would give Brad the chance to press his hand around the back of Nate's head, bringing him closer so he could lay a forceful kiss on his mouth. He would thrust his tongue between Nate's lips, not asking, but taking.

 

       With a few rapid blinks, Nate stilled his steps. This wasn't something that could happen, and it wasn't an opportunity Nate would allow to take place; not now at least. With a harsh grunt, he cleared his throat, and only then noticed that the entirety of his mouth and throat were dry. Nate quickly turned and took a deep breath of fresh air before he answered Ray. “I have a canteen on my person, but thank you for your concern. However, I should really be getting back.”

 

       Nate moved with a rapid stride, with the hope that once he obtained enough distance from the Humvee, he'd be perfectly squared away. However, a trick of the desert was the illusion of space. The echoes brought one closer to everyone else, like they were right behind you.

 

     “You spit cum on his shoe, Ray?”

 

     “It's not like I spit fucking random cum on his shoe. To the best of my knowledge, it was your dick I had in my mouth moments before the incident in the motherfucking question.”

 

      “As a Marine, you should always look before you shoot. Basic knowledge, Ray. Or, in your whiskey tango case, look before you spit.”

 

      “Now isn't this some kind of bourgeoisie bull crap. All you upper-class cocksuckers trying to blame it on the proletariat.”

 

     “Cocksucker? Was it not your mouth that was holding my cock but a few minutes ago. In almost any dictionary, I think that would be the precise definition of a cocksucker.”

 

       Nate considered how childish the act of sticking his pointer fingers in his ears and repeating continuously 'I'm not listening' would be. The truly pathetic thing about the situation was that Nate didn't actually have a canteen on his person. He analyzed the possibility of dragging the toe of his boot against the sand, but that would only result in him having a disturbing mixture of cum and sand on his shoe.

 

       Nate let out a long drawn sigh, then with as much dignity as he could sum up, wagged his foot back and forth. He watched as most of the cum flung off his boot, but then observed as the rest splashed across his laces.

 

       “Fuck it!” Nate let the grumbles seethe in the back of his throat before he relaxed all the tension in his muscles. He couldn't help but muse that he should have accepted Ray's offer, consequences be damned.

 

 


End file.
